


Shady

by MlleBree



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleBree/pseuds/MlleBree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine is drunk, Erik wishes he was. Slightly AU. Shameless fluffy fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shady

Christine was utterly drunk.

Not that Erik particularly minded - he had known that she would be when he allowed her to go to the saloon with the company after the performance. Still, he couldn't hold it against her. Not when she flushed so prettily, sprawled out on the Persian rug in front of his fireplace.

She giggled as her fingers trailed through the long strings of the rug. "Angel?" She said, rolling over as she moved to support her chin with her hands and looked up at him.

"What is it Christine?" He responded softly, watching as she rolled the strings between her fingers.

"I'm dizzy," she finally mumbled, following up the statement with a quick giggle.

"You're drunk," he reminded her, swallowing hard at the sudden dryness in his mouth as he watched her lick her dry lips. "I'll fetch you some water," he choked out.

He was gone before she could protest and he took his time in his small kitchen, chiding himself for the sudden onslaught of lust.

He splashed some of the water in his own face, taking as deep of a calming breath as he could as he braced himself on the counter.

"She's a child, Erik," he reminded himself.

'Not anymore,' his head supplied. 'Old enough to drink, old enough to marry.'

He let out a shaky breath and ran his hand through his hair, squeezing his neck as he attempted to relieve his own tension.

"You will NOT be a monster," he said to himself, rolling his shoulders as he clutched the glass in his hand and attempted to regain his composure.

When he returned to find her on her back, her legs spread open and her hands resting over her stomach he nearly lost it all again. 'A child,' he reminded himself. 'She doesn't understand.'

He knelt on the carpet next to her and her eyes blinked open. She looked blearily at the mask and her eyes trailed down to the glass in his hand. She reached for it slowly.

He clicked his tongue in his cheek. "Sit up," he said, perhaps more gruffly than was necessary. "I'll not have you drown in a drinking glass."

She let out a huff and rolled her eyes but complied, hoisting herself up and taking the glass from him, her fingers brushing lightly against his. Had Erik been a stronger man and less distracted he would have chided her for the action, but as it was he was simply grateful that she listened.

"Don't drink it too quickly, you'll be sick," he said quietly.

She nodded, sipping at the water. Her eyes closed and she took in a shaky breath. "Angel, I don't feel well."

He nodded. "You probably won't in the morning either," he said. "Tell me about your night Christine."

She seemed surprised when he sat beside her on the carpet but he trained his eyes carefully on the blazing fire, watching as the flames licked at the logs.

"It was fun," she said. "I've never gone out like that before."

He nodded. "Because you are good and dedicated to your music."

She set the glass on the floor beside her and nodded, looking down and playing with the plain golden ring that adorned the third finger of her left hand. His ring, the ring he had given her when he first agreed to play her angel.

All of the breath left his lungs as she scooted closer to him, her leg brushing against his, just the lightest of touches.

She was looking up at him, her eyes boring into his mask. He swallowed hard, suddenly exceedingly uncomfortable with her scrutiny and painfully aware of how close she was to him.

"Angel?" She said again.

The words were out of his mouth before he had time to stop them: "I'm not an angel, Christine," the words were rough, strained. And almost immediately he regretted them. He clenched his teeth tightly, suddenly hoping that perhaps she really had drank enough not to remember the night in the morning.

She blinked slowly and cocked her head to the side, looking up at him with a shy smile. "I know," she said quietly. His heart was racing, beating nearly out of his chest. "But you are an angel," she said. "You're MY angel. Aren't you?"

She suddenly looked confused. 

"I'm just a man, Christine," he breathed out his confession, watching her carefully, as though she were a wild animal that could strike at any moment.

She chewed her lip thoughtfully and nodded slowly. "But you're still my angel."

He thought he would have a heart attack when he felt her fingers brush his. And then she had his hand clasped between both of hers.

He nodded slowly, not trusting his voice. He should flee, he should shut himself away; he wanted to. But he was frozen to the spot, her eyes and hands keeping him grounded where he sat.

He cleared his throat. "How long have you known?"

She smiled softly, running both thumbs over the back of his hand. "I haven't believed it since I was twelve," she said quietly.

Six years, he thought. Six years that she hadn't believed the farce, six years that she had simply played along with him for - for what exactly? His head was reeling and for a moment he wished he was as drunk as she was.

"Why did you let it go on?" He was breathless.

She shrugged her shoulders. "If I told you that I knew you would leave me."

His breath hitched in his chest. She looked up at him so innocently, so honestly and it took him a full minute to comprehend the words she had spoken. "You didn't want me to leave?"

"I never want you to leave." She said it so easily, so simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world and he was a fool for not knowing it.

For the second time that night, he let careless words slip off his tongue. "I love you, Christine," he said it quietly.

She nodded, leaning against him, letting her temple rest against his shoulder. "I love you too, Angel," she said quietly.

"Erik," he said, his name coming out of his own mouth like a choked sob. "My name is Erik."

She hummed against his shoulder. "Erik," she said, as though sampling his name on her tongue, slowly, one syllable drawn out into two as she leaned just a bit heavier into him. "You'll always take care of me, won't you Erik?"

Her question was so innocent, so trusting and gentle. He pulled his hand from hers, using it to gently, hesitantly brush the hair out of her face. His fingers trembled but she seemed to take no notice as she happily sighed.

"Always, Christine," he promised gently.


End file.
